What I learned after giving too much and slowly disappearing from my own life
I used to think giving was simple.
If someone needs help, you help. If someone is struggling, you stay. If someone asks, you don’t think too much.
That felt right. That felt human.
But somewhere along the way, I stopped checking how I felt.
I just kept giving.
I didn’t notice it at first. That’s the dangerous part.
It didn’t feel like sacrifice. It felt normal.
Answering calls even when I was tired. Listening even when I had nothing left to give. Saying “it’s okay” when it really wasn’t.
No one forced me. I volunteered myself.
For a long time, I told myself this meant I was kind.
But kindness that empties you starts looking a lot like self-neglect.
I didn’t collapse dramatically. I just became quieter. More irritated. Less present in my own life.
That took time to admit.
Here’s something uncomfortable.
Sometimes I didn’t give because I cared. I gave because I was scared.
Scared of disappointing people. Scared of being misunderstood. Scared of being less important.
Giving made me feel needed. And needed felt close to loved.
Not the same thing. But close enough to confuse.
I remember moments where I said yes and immediately felt tired.
Not later. Immediately.
That feeling wasn’t laziness. It was honesty.
I ignored it.
Enough times, and you stop hearing it.
The first real crack came when resentment showed up.
Not anger. Resentment.
That quiet bitterness that leaks out in tone, in silence, in distance.
I was still helping. But something inside was pulling back.
That’s when I realised I wasn’t giving freely anymore.
I was giving under pressure. Pressure I put on myself.
I used to think boundaries were harsh.
Like drawing lines meant pushing people away.
But what actually pushed people away was me showing up half-present, half-exhausted.
Boundaries didn’t make me colder. They made me clearer.
And clarity turned out to be kinder than endless adjustment.
Another thing I had to unlearn was explaining myself.
Every no came with reasons. Long messages. Careful wording.
I wanted people to be comfortable with my limits.
But that comfort came at my expense.
Now I say less.
And yes, it’s uncomfortable.
But the discomfort passes. Respect stays.
I also had to face this truth.
Giving had become my personality.
I was “the reliable one.” “The understanding one.” “The one who never says no.”
That identity felt safe.
Letting it go felt like losing a part of myself.
But it also gave me space to find out who I was without constantly proving my worth.
Receiving was harder than giving.
I didn’t know what to do with care when it came toward me.
Compliments made me deflect. Support made me uneasy.
But real connection isn’t one-directional.
When I allowed myself to receive, relationships stopped feeling heavy.
They started feeling equal.
Some people didn’t like the change.
That hurt.
Not because I was wrong, but because the old version of me was easier.
I had to accept that.
Growth changes dynamics. And not everyone grows with you.
I didn’t stop being generous.
I became selective.
I gave where my no was respected. Where effort moved both ways. Where I didn’t feel guilty for resting.
Giving felt lighter there. Cleaner.
Rest used to feel like failure.
Now it feels like maintenance.
You can’t give well when you’re constantly depleted.
Exhausted giving isn’t love. It’s survival mode.
Here’s what I know now.
Giving is beautiful. But disappearing isn’t the cost of being good.
You don’t have to erase yourself to care deeply.
The real art of giving is knowing when to offer your energy and when to protect it.
If this felt uncomfortably familiar, you’ll find more reflections like this on my blog — about boundaries, self-respect, growth, and learning how to care without losing yourself.
Real generosity never requires self-erasure.
